A piece of work is 'Hair'

When the audience gingerly made its way into those famous first productions of "Hair" in New York in 1967 (and in Chicago in 1969), the experience for some was surely akin to a visit to an especially shocking zoo. There was the counterculture writ large in colored lights: long-haired, pot-smoking, free-loving draft dodgers singing about Hashish, Sodomy, Hare Krishna and Timothy Leary Dearie. The moon may have been in the seventh house and Jupiter aligned with March, but, by numerous accounts, there were also worries that these hippies would bite. And they certainly weren't about to meet their curious audience half way.

In some ways, Diane Paulus' zestful 2009 Broadway revival, now touring, is about as close as you could reasonably get to the re-creation of the original "Hair" experience. The cast throws themselves into the experience with sensual abandon. Not only do they not retreat from this show's more controversial aspects (nudity, politics, gently simulated sex), they clearly relish those moments. The result for some will be a rush of nostalgia, for some a sudden stab of pain at the loss of carefree youth. But the most pervasive feeling in the seats of the Oriental Theatre, I suspect, will be a combination of amazement at how much American youth culture has changed (nobody would dare write some of these lyrics today about 16-year-old virgins and the rest, lest they be thrown up on charges), and a sense of relief that this great artistic monument to a feeling, an era, a moment has been preserved intact — and now brought back to life nightly by enraptured actors who weren't born when draft cards were going up in the smoke of the East Village. However much you may have changed, you will, I think, take some comfort that "Hair" is still there. And back in Chicago.

But there is one crucial difference this time around. These hippies have to sell themselves. And sell they surely do — frolicking down the aisles, inviting audience members to dance, workin' and cavorting and feelin' and actualizin' every last moment, immersing themselves so thoroughly in the situation that you wonder if they're scared somebody out there will think them untrue to the cause or brand them as mere tie-dye wannabes. It is a rather strange and slightly alienating combination of full-on authenticity and inevitable difference. To some extent, that disconnect is unavoidable with this particular piece. But when I reviewed this show in New York, I noted that all kinds of hippies were to be found on the stage, with the exception of the mellow kind. I haven't changed that view after seeing the touring cast Wednesday night. I do, though, have more sympathy. These hard-working cats are on their way to Hershey and Schenectady. It's not so easy to sing "Gliddy glub gloopy, Nibby nabby noopy," in such locales without fearing a sea of bemused stares. No wonder they're bringing this thing home all night long.

Some of the anachronisms bother me: I sat behind James Lipton in New York, who was greeted by one traveling hippie with such a squeal of recognition, I started wondering whether I'd missed those 1967 episodes of "Inside The Actors Studio." And Wednesday night, Steel Burkhardt started riffing on the Windy City and flatulence in the first few minutes, making one wonder why a guy in the East Village seemed to be in Chicago. A Chicago, by the way, that the campy Burkhardt clearly didn't know very well. But like the David Letterman-like gestures that punctuate the end of intermission with those "we're back" kinds of arm pulls, those are minor matters.

Frankly, the main reason to see "Hair" again is the score and to hear it sung at this level. While you surely remember a few of the great songs in "Hair," you probably have forgotten just how many of them this score contains. Galt McDermott's music (and Gerome Ragni and James Rado's lyrics) somehow reflected all the complementary and competitive influences of the era: anger, defiance, sweetness, love, childishness. "Good Morning Starshine," "Flesh Failures," "Easy to be Hard." All are astonishing. And, in technical terms at least, all are well sung here.

As if often the case in touring casts (and this one is much better than average), the real strength is in the character work: Here a superb actor named Josh Lamon, who plays the authority figures, normally a thankless task, nearly walks off with the show. The lead performances don't embody all the emotional complexity of the 2009 Broadway cast, but Paris Remillard, who plays Claude, shows the most vulnerability and only gets better as the show goes on. Caren Lyn Tackett, who plays Sheila, has a remarkably rich voice, but her "Easy to be Hard" didn't plum the emotional depths of a song so simple in message, it is breathtakingly rich. I suspect she could.

More attention to those quieter, more honest moments would help the show. But on a second view, I really came to see the force of Paulus' staging achievement in the famous Vietnam nightmare sequences. And I got a big kick out of a wide-eyed teenager across the aisle, applauding wildly at the line where someone says they wished parents would just go home and tell their kids to be free. You never know what lies ahead, la la lo lo.